


Building a Mystery

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25688188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by ACA family celebration leads to momentary angst and second chances at love.Part of the "Folly of Starlight" series.
Relationships: Elrohir/Glorfindel (Tolkien)
Kudos: 2
Collections: Least Expected





	Building a Mystery

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit, no harm intended.  
> Thanks: to Aniron Draugluin aka Faela Greenleaf and Emma for the beta. Hugs to Helmboy.  
> I should have never written the Gl/Elr subplot into my last story - SIGH!  
> Internal thoughts are denoted by || ||.  
> Feedback: PLEASE!!!!  
> Story Notes: Picks up a loose thread from!! "When I Give."

"Can you look out the window  
without your shadow getting in the way  
oh you're so beautiful  
with an edge and a charm  
but so careful  
when I'm in your arms

'Cause you're working  
building a mystery  
holding on and holding it in"

  * Sarah McLachlan, "Building a Mystery"



Part 1:

[The Year 2714 of the Third Age of Middle-earth, the valley sanctuary of Imladris, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell.]

With the inevitability of nightfall riding upon the coattails of the dusk, winter had finally arrived, bringing with it the waterfall-muted chill of the season. Rich tapestries were once again hung in place, covering the cavernous windows so joyfully enjoyed during the warmed seasons. The thick, crisp fabric flapped softly in the very wind it strove to shield from the rooms inside, the roaring fires burning in the stone-hewn fireplaces and angry red coals in metal braziers radiating heart in the larger and smaller spaces of Imladris.

Yet despite the all too obvious nip upon the air, and the mournful bareness of most of the trees, a radiant, inviting warmth filled the home of Lord Elrond. The Last Homely House west of the mountains lived up to its folktale name this night, kindled by the unquestioning love of his family, and unwavering loyalty of his dearest friend. It had been far too many years since the twins were home to celebrate the anniversary of their conception, and birth, in person, and far more years still since their sister was here, as well, on that special date forever etched in the halls of beloved remembrances in Elrond's heart.

With the memory-etched sweet song of his twin sons' first sharp cries of breath echoing joyously in his ears, the thrice blessed Lord of Imladris pushed back from the head of the formal dining table and proudly stood before the intimate assembly, raising a crystal glass in toast to his much-adored family. "To my sons, who bring me much pride and honor, and my daughter, whose beauty not only illuminates Imladris, but the whole of Middle-earth, and my dearest friend, whom I regard as a brother, and my children as a second father."

Seated at Elrond's right, Elrohir twitched visibly, his recently refilled wineglass precariously wobbling in his hand and nearly spilling its contents across the table and his robes.

"Surely you exaggerate, Elrond," Glorfindel uncomfortably suggested from across the table, watching Elrohir regain his composure with a wary, self-interested eye.

"Certainly not!" the Lord confidently retorted, a relaxed smile brightening his noble, ageless features. "To whom did I entrust my sons' education? Whom did I deem worthy to watch over my children as a surrogate parent when their mother and I traveled to Lothlorien? Do not underestimate your position of unrivalled importance in my home, or my children's lives, Glorfindel. I realize that I have never properly thanked you for all you have done for my family. Excuse my unforgivably selfish oversight. My children are the priceless jewels they have become in large part due to the special attention you lavished upon them when they were young."

Elrohir swiftly set his glass down upon the table before he plainly spilled it outright and wearily rubbed his forehead, daring an underhanded glance at a likewise utterly blanched Glorfindel.

"Are you well, Elrohir?" Arwen warily inquired with earnest concern, gently touching his elbow with hesitant fingertips.

"Yes," the younger twin nodded weakly. "The wine has just gone to my head for a moment. It will pass."

Glorfindel eagerly seized the opportunity to steer the conversation to topics far safer and less troubling in their undercurrent. "It is a shame the fair prince is not here to help us celebrate, my Lord. His absence leaves a noticeable hole at our table."

Following his one-time lover's lead, Elrohir eagerly snatched his glass from the table and raised it with renewed gusto. "Yes, let us toast Legolas, for bringing happiness into our Father's life."

"To Father's greatly improved mood," Elladan teased from Elrond's left, raising his own glass in crisp salute.

"To love," Arwen joined, shooting her eldest brother a disapproving glance.

"To love," Glorfindel parroted, the subtlest diminutive hint of regret in his voice only noticed by the very one to whom it mattered most.

Nodding with pursed lips, Elrond's face transparently reflected the piercing pangs of heartfelt yearning for another's warmth beside him. Struggling to steel his expression into one less obvious in its need, he raised his glass even higher, then turned toward the east, the direction in which his heart truly lie. "To love," he breathlessly murmured, before raising the crystal rim to his lips.

Bringing his glass up for a taste, Elrohir sipped the fragrant wildberry wine as he glanced over his drink at his former tutor in matters of far more than books and bows. The quickly fleeting gaze he momentarily caught in the net of his own alarmed him further than his sinking heart dared admit.

* * *

The revelry slowly released its participants to the awaiting night, Glorfindel the first to excuse himself from the table and swiftly slide out of view for his own well-veiled thoughts and private space. Elrohir sorrowfully scrutinized the elder elf's surreptitious departure in apprehensive silence, the subtle storm cloud of guilt hanging low and ominous over his former lover's mood not boding well for the much hoped-for ending of his nautha-edinor he had been mentally rehearsing in painstaking, erotic detail for majority of the week.

Drowning his disappointment in the remainder of his wine, Elrohir paid no mind to his sister and elder brother's eventually exit. He was not even consciously aware that he and his father remained alone together until he heard the distinctive commanding voice playfully rebuking him from his brooding.

"Such a long face on such a joyous occasion, Elrohir? Surely you cannot be feeling your age."

Startled from his pained philosophical musings of moments possessed and moments lost, and moments he dreaded might never come to pass, Elrohir turned to face his father's jovial repartee. "Is that how you truly wish for us to think of Glorfindel, as a second father?" he weightily probed, not caring for the glaringly obvious fault line of a shift he had generated in the topic of conversation.

Sensing his son's palpable pain, punctuated by the emotion-drenched, ill-eased gaze directed in his direction, Elrond shrugged slightly. "I realize my children have long passed the age where they require a 'first father', let alone a second. I did not intend to insult you by insinuating otherwise." A slight smile involuntarily crossed his lips, then faded, Elrond silently hoping his son would not interpret his own private musings as a mockery of his openly evidenced sting. Elrohir had always been the more sensitive of his sons -- eerily perceptive of the feelings of others, as well as deeply in touch with those of his own. "What is with your mood, Son? It is a special day -- you should be thanking Elbereth for the opportunity to spend yet another round of the sun in Middle-earth."

Broadening his pride-filled smile, Elrond clapped his son affectionately on shoulder. "I have not seen you so gloomy on this date since the year I gifted you both your first steeds. You perched among the leaves of your favorite climbing tree and pouted for over an hour because you believed _your_ horse to stand a half a hand shorter than your brother's." Snorting humorously at the flooding of bittersweet, protective parental memories flowing through his mind's eye, Elrond tenderly squeezed the younger elf's strangely tension-tautened shoulder. "You have always had this maddening rivalry, you and he," he sighed in a defeated, head shaken exhale.

"Not in _all_ things," Elrohir firmly retorted. A conviction-strengthened smile graced the dark beauty of his features, sweeping away the tension his father had found so perplexing, and replacing it with the purity of flawless understanding and unyielding resolve. "Not in the things which truly matter." With the smile of confident determination unfurling as a battle banner across his face, he briefly clasped the hand on his shoulder, then broke their contact, hastily depositing his empty wine glass upon the table before hustling wordlessly from the room, leaving his perplexed, eyebrow-arched sire abandoned in his wake.

Part 2:

The silence of the night swallowed Glorfindel in its completeness, yet drew his overwhelming mantle of guilt ever tighter around him, suffocating him in its pythonic grip. Elrond's damning words danced feverishly through his mind, taunting him, accusing him, haunting him. He rolled over into his pillows, gripping the edge of one cushion with bloodless tightness. He would not find the solace of dreams this night, yet he had not the strength to rouse himself from the ever-present gloom of his lonely bed. Instead, he lay still fully clothed, caught between the curse of the waking world and the promise of the release of reverie. The barely perceptible gentle tread of approaching footsteps instinctively curled his body up into a taut, attentive position, sitting on the edge of his bed with his eyes keenly trained on the tapestry-draped doorway.

A slender hand snaked between the thick burgundy fabric and the doorframe, then silently slid the tapestry aside. Without a word of explanation, nor apology for the bold assumption of permission, Elrohir stepped into view, the tapestry swooshing back into place behind him, forcing the elves together on the great battle plain of emotion.

Glorfindel swiftly arose from his bed, stepping cautiously toward his unexpected visitor. "Have you forgotten the way to your chambers?" he joked with the awkwardness of far-too-obviously forced humor.

"No, I came here to chastise you, Glorfindel, and give you the chance to correct your egregious oversight."

Quizzically, the elder elf studied the subtle smirk in the other's lovely features. "Oversight? What manner of oversight do you speak of?"

The smirk blossomed into the ripeness of youthful boldness Glorfindel instantly remembered from the twin's earlier days. "I have not received a gift from you so far this day."

Relief born of the ease of the chaste side of relationships long held dear flooded over the elder elf's elegantly sculpted face. "Elrohir, I have not acknowledged the anniversary of your conception with more than warm words since you reached the age of majority."

A pregnant pause filled the air between them, then the smirk of the twin's face softened to the most sultry of seductive searing expressions. "Do you recall the most precious offering you ever gifted upon me?"

"To what do you refer?" Glorfindel evasively volleyed in return, the ever-so-slight tremble of deliciously cognizant memory lyrical in his voice.

"Ten years before my majority -- that year, you gifted upon me what I desired most. Yourself."

Despite his station, his advanced age, and enviable wealth of experience, Glorfindel surprisingly found the heat of unconscious color arising in his cheeks. "That gift was not truly given, pen-neth, as much as _taken_ ," he joked uneasily.

Visible insult pained the deceptively youthful features, the palpable misery filling the entirety of the room as an invisible, yet undeniable, fog. "Why must you make it sound as though I took you against your will? It did not seem like torture at the time. Was I wrong in my presumptions?"

Shaken by the agony he had caused in the one heart he treasured above his own, Glorfindel quickly shook his head, raising a tentative hand to gently stroke the side of the younger elf's face. "Forgive me. I meant no offense." A shudder ran through Glorfindel's flesh as Elrohir instinctively nuzzled his face into more complete contact with elder elf's hand, the heat of a passion which the years could not hope to extinguish coursing through their veins more forcefully than the mighty Bruinen. Sighing, Glorfindel felt the sting of Elrond's guilt inflaming words piercing him as surely as the weapons of battle, and with the weight of the regrets of centuries bowing his shoulders, pulled away his hand from his former lover's sweet face.

Elrohir stared at him with the pleading of love-driven desperation. "You desire me, of that there is no doubt, yet you would deny yourself, and me, the freedom to act upon it? Why?"

Glorfindel turned away, unable to withstand the beseeching plea in those twilight hued eyes. "You heard your Father's words, as did I. He would be utterly betrayed if he knew I had abused his trust in such an egregious manner."

"So you would suffer now, over a thing which happened more than two dozen centuries prior? You have always been one to clasp onto the past, Glorfindel, but this tenacity in clinging to your precious torment is beyond my ability to fathom."

Exhaling his heart along with his breath, Glorfindel defeatedly offered, "Loyalty should have no conclusion, save the end of Ea, itself, perhaps."

"And what of your loyalty to me? Have you forgotten the sweet words you softly whispered to me as you held me close? I have not. 'Hir-i-gur-nin, min thenid meleth-nin.' I believed myself to be dreaming, so sure was I that you could never feel so strongly for a child as myself."

His heart plummeting out of his body, down to the very depths of wholly possessing, hope vanquishing, despair, Glorfindel cursed the impetuous, selfish recklessness of far younger days. He had, indeed, thought Elrohir to be caught up in the safe distraction of his own dreams, when he had foolishly given voice to the carefree, emotion-swept song of his soul. "Elrohir, please...," he whimpered in a barely heard whisper, so low only sensitive elfin ears could discern both his words, and the pain behind them.

"Do you deny that you said that, or that you meant it?"

Squeezing shut his eyes, Glorfindel tried to banish the anguished specter of the other's unseen, yet all too obviously tortured expression from his mind. "Neither," he again whispered upon his very breath, the tremble of his flesh reflected in the unconscious vibrato in his voice. Glorfindel swallowed hard, feeling the subtle swirl of air around him as the other obviously softly shifted closer behind him. ||Please, Elbereth, do not let him touch me. I have not the strength to resist, yet I must. I beg of you -- steer him on another course, before our pain deepens further.||

"I held onto your words, kept them close to my heart, even after you turned me away. No, that is not the full truth. I held them far closer, and more dear, still, when I no longer had you to hold in their stead."

||As did I, meleth-nin, as did I.|| With what tattered remnants of his resolve he could muster, Glorfindel braced himself, awaiting the inevitable assault. A single finger laid upon his anticipation prickled skin, or the delicate breeze of breath brushed against his hair, would utterly crumble the long-guarded parapets of his self-control, sending them both journeying on that path from which there would be no return, and a host of later regrets.

Regrets of action, regrets of inaction. Glorfindel had suffered under the burdensome load of the latter for so long he wondered if the former could be any graver a weight to bear.

Yet the breaching of the walls of his heart was not accomplished by the taloned grapple hooks of touch, but by the equally effective piercing of spearing words.

"I bared my heart to you, once, and cast myself upon you without pride. I have not grown so prideful in all the centuries that I would not do so again, if it be the only way I can find the peace of your arms."

How he longed to turn around, collect the much-beloved, and long-missed, flesh in his arms, kiss away every second of pain he had ever caused, yet he had not the strength to do so. He was bound by his oaths of friendship to set aside his own desires and honor the role Elrond had predetermined for him. "You did not 'cast yourself upon me', meleth-nin," Glorfindel softly whispered, the sudden moistness of regret at the corners of his eyes surprising him, yet not. "You called me to you, made me your own, quite masterfully, for one of your tender years and lack of experience."

"So must I seduce you again, Glorfindel? Are you a conquest I must earn a second time?"

Shaking his head, Glorfindel clenched his fists at his sides, torn between what he wanted above all else, yet believed he could not, _should_ not, have. "Your father believes...."

"My father believes in the power of love. You have said so, yourself. He has no means to know the pain his words caused you."

The long-anticipated and deeply-dreaded touch finally came, a hand firmly laid upon Glorfindel's shoulder and resolutely spinning him to finally face what he could barely resist while unseen.

A beseeching, hope-filled expression brightened the ever-lovely features of the younger elf's face. "It is my special day, and I wish above all else to unwrap the only gift I could ever require. Would you deny me that, after all that has passed between us?"

With a surrendering smile of knowing yet uncaring self-damnation, Glorfindel simply sighed, "When was I ever able to deny you anything, pen-neth?"

Elrohir smiled deeply, the purity of love swirling incongruously with a smoldering expression of desire which could set the very waters of the mighty river ablaze. "Then do not begin now." Removing his hand from Glorfindel's shoulder, he took a single step backward, anxiously awaiting the other's final, fateful decision.

Part 3:

After the barest breath-held pause of wholly superfluous hesitancy, Glorfindel widely opened his arms and earnestly offered himself to Elrohir, a guileless smile of enthusiastic submission brightening his fire-lit features. "I am yours this night -- as I ever have been, in my heart, 'tho I dared not admit it, not even to myself. Do with me what you will, meleth-nin. Just do not hesitate -- I cannot bear to be without you for a moment longer."

A visible shimmy of relief-tinted anticipation quaking his flawless flesh, Elrohir closed the distance between them with swift footsteps, fearful of the reality of the moment evaporating into the guise of a torturous dream, or an equally devastating change of heart on the part of his past and future lover. Elrohir tenderly cupped the other's face with the noticeably trembling fingers of both hands dancing along the elder elf's angled cheeks. "So I shall," he huskily pledged in a breathless exhalation. "Yet to one demand you must hold, as atonement for all the long years you have wasted in your stubbornness." A devilish smile reminiscent of the smug, knowing expression heralding his father's most masterful power plays found a comfortable home among Elrohir's features. "You cannot touch me, until I grant you leave."

Drinking in the delicious discomfort in his lover's awed and unexpecting expression, Elrohir paused to allow the full intent of his stern admonition to unfurl, then sucked in his breath along with the other's mouth with a deep, passion-drenched kiss. Lingering in a long-sought savor of those slender lips, it was only with the greatest final rally of self-control that he barely managed to, somehow, tear himself away from the ownership of that long-awaited and well-earned kiss. Unable to permanently sever the contact between their noticeably tremulous lips, Elrohir spread a lingering blanket of soft, feathery kisses around the elder elf's nose, mouth, cheeks, forehead, and neck, all the while his fingers slowly snaking farther back along the familiar curves of the other's head, entangling in the fire-illuminated mane of pure gold.

Retreating a half step to admire his most precious present while it still remained in its ornate outer wrappings, Elrohir reached behind the other's head and deftly released Glorfindel's hair from its single, simple, captive braid, spreading the freed, gilded silk into a delicate, luminous halo around the elder elf's shoulders. "More precious than gold," he murmured reverently, his eyes roaming over the entirety of the artistic mural painted before him. "And more lovely still." Claiming a bruising kiss of undeniable ownership, he finally stepped away, out of reach, and then slowly, purposefully, in a dance of drowning sensuality, shed the sumptuous layers of embroidery and brocade which veiled him from his lover's eager-eyed view.

Stratum upon stratum of discarded clothing piled up upon the stone floor at his feet, until the beauteous younger elf stood attired as he had on the very first day of his life in Middle-earth. The unquenchable agony of need and desire so long repressed tortured him as he was trapped in the imprisonment of his lover's beseeching eyes. So obviously painful was Glorfindel's wish to touch him, taste him, love him, and equally excruciating was his own desire to be so touched, tasted, and, most of all, loved. Yet, all in due time. They had waited for centuries untold to arrive at this moment -- he would not give in to the impetuous, impatient side of his soul, certainly not now.

Each rapid, anticipatory beating of his heart, every racked breath aching with the need to share itself with the sweet, warmed gasp passed through the other's lips, every spark of passion-drenched sensation tingling through his flesh permanently branded itself into the library of his memories. It might have to suffice for another maddening taste of eternity if the morning found Glorfindel captive in the self-made dungeon of his unwavering sense of duty once more. With a knowing smile of temporary power exercised to its fullest potential, Elrohir swiped the briefest aperitif of a kiss from those trembling lips, a shimmy of anticipation likewise shuddering his own memory-fevered flesh.

His body acting on its well-understandable automatic response to the reenacting of delicious memory and the newly discovered possibilities of the equally desirable present, Glorfindel forgot his charge, and succumbed far too rapidly to his ever-increasing yearning, grasping Elrohir's elbows with tightly clinging fingers.

The younger elf swiftly backed out of the contact, and with mock sternness chastised Glorfindel for his rather uncharacteristic lack of control. "It is my nautha-edinor, meleth-nin, and at my age, I expect my gifts to be well earned, and well appreciated." His smugly pursed-lipped expression held for a moment, then the lips broadened into a cheeky smile. "And, above all else, well behaved. You have made me suffer for centuries by your unwillingness to touch me. I believe you should suffer for it, yourself, for a while longer. It is only fair."

Warily studying the bottomless depths of his lover's pained expression, Elrohir found his own resolve for this pointless exercise in revenge and unwarranted self-control wavering like the ephemeral tendrils of the unsteady firelight flickering across his own bared skin. Determined to prove something to himself, and the elder elf, no matter how pointless, how inherently immature it might later seem in the saner reflection of daylight, he reclaimed his fingers' tangled grasp through the golden web of hair. His lips repossessed the other's in the breath-stealing urgency of thought-halting kisses, then lowered their moan-emboldened assault on the defenseless territory of Glorfindel's neck.

Elrohir sensed the elder elf's entire body sway under his touch, the tormented and tantalized flesh simultaneously tensing and surrendering under his alternately fleeting then relentless oral ministrations. Grinding his hips forward into the robe curtained form he so desired to possess anew, he smiled at the obvious tented need pressing urgently into him from beneath the dense layers of fabric, then sighed in remorse-filled understanding as he brushed against one of Glorfindel's hands helplessly clenched in a bloodlessly tight fist against the side of his own hips, the throaty, aching moan reverberating in the elder elf's throat piercing him to the core. The time for games was long past -- what remained was the mutual reward of love long overdue, and pleasures passed by in the oft-misguided name of honor and duty.

Stepping back in guilty silence, he lovingly beamed a subtle smile of soon-to-be-realized submission back at the need-anguished expression haunting his lover's stormy eyes. Pausing to drink in the entirety of the magnificent gift he had been given this special night, Elrohir then reached out with tentative fingers and began to unwrap the layers of richly hued robes from the other's flesh with painstaking leisure. His eyes locked onto the beggar of an expression in his lover's features, his hands nimbly unfastening the outer robes and sending them silently crashing to the floor among his own long-discarded garments without the slightest hint of a wasted motion. Deft elfin fingers likewise made short work of the row of maddeningly miniature buttons lining the center of Glorfindel's gold-hued tunic, the garment opening like a curtain of the dawn, unveiling the unblemished ivory skin Elrohir so desired to taste.

Passion-blackened eyes widened noticeably, as Elrohir recognized the long-forgotten, silver-captured, pale blue stone adorning Glorfindel's neck. Determined not to break the magic of the moment with the profanity of mere words, he lowered his lips to the cool surface of the polished stone and pressed a consecratory kiss upon it. Trailing a moist tongue lap up along one side of the deceptively delicate silver chain, he delighted in the moaned tremble he created in the other's sleek chest. Rewarding them both with another momentary kiss of comfort and promise, Elrohir finally slid the tunic from the slender, well-sinewed shoulders, the shimmering fabric joining the ever-increasing sea of softness lapping at their feet.

Sinking to his knees, the younger elf carefully divested the soft leather coverings from his elder's feet, then reached up to the other's lean waist and freed the remaining lower robes with the well-timed release of two hearty buttons. Elrohir rose to his feet, once more, his tongue silent, yet the passion and adoration in his eyes spoke more words than all the volumes lining his father's private halls.

Together they stood before each other, naked in the flesh as well as the heart, their eyes desperately trying to devour every inch of each other's skin, the swirling maelstrom of their senses reliving joyous memories refreshed and renewed.

"You have not changed -- you are as magnificent and beautiful as the first night I beheld you in your glory," Elrohir tremulously whispered, his fingers tentatively brushing across the smooth, slightly mounded plain of Glorfindel's chest.

"And your beauty has increased tenfold with the years," Glorfindel hushedly affirmed. Yes, the years since their last night of passion had, indeed, added further grace and definition to Elrohir's ever lovely form, even the delicate paler lines of scars crossing his pale skin adding a subtle, indescribably delicious allure to the already impossible to resist charms. It was the youth he had loved truly come into the full blossom of adulthood, and his heart soared with boundless joy at the precious chance to taste him, feel him, love him once more.

"Let me touch you, _please_ ," Glorfindel begged with a groan, his hands beseeching with his words, the fingers dancing eagerly upon the air just shy of the other's slim hips.

Smiling slightly, Elrohir brushed an errant lock of sunlight-hued hair out his lover's need-pained face, his fingers lingering to grace a noble cheekbone with barely perceptible caresses. "I will gladly grant your request, with one of my own," he whispered sincerely. "All those years ago, you gave yourself to me freely; you made my body sing in ways I did not imagine possible then, and have seldom experienced since. You loved me in every way, save one. No matter how I pleaded, this one thing you refused me." The sweetest smile imaginable unfurled upon his face, and in that moment his beauty made the Evenstar's pale in comparison. "I understand why you restrained yourself. It was your usual, masterful means of bending the truth to suit your purpose. If my father had discovered our indiscretion, you would be able to truthfully tell him you had not robbed me of my innocence, and my honor. I understand that _now_ , although I did not then." Lingering in the nascent promise of the moment, and the even sweeter rewards of those soon to come, Elrohir unconsciously swiped his tongue along the top of his lower lip. "I offered myself to you then, as I do now. Finally, after all this time, will you now accept _my_ gift -- the only meaningful one I have left to give?"

Part 4:

Elrohir's answer came in the form of a breath-claiming kiss, the elder elf's hands simultaneously roaming ever lower down the sensitive skin of his spine to rest upon the much-desired and so long denied globes. Shuddering under the sensuous touch, the twin swiftly succumbed to the happiness of the moment and the final fulfillment of dreams left unanswered for most of this age. His mouth became as a rich feast for the other's enjoyment, each tasty morsel -- lips, teeth, tongue -- a separate course, each more sumptuous than the one preceding it.

A sudden, unexpected breach of contact between their mouths startled the younger elf, a moaned expression of pained loss instinctively flying from his lips. Yet, no sooner had the pangs of need-urged disappointment carved unseen wounds into his heart than the promise of equally seductive pleasures of a different sort spread their soothing balm.

With sensuous purpose, Glorfindel trailed his mouth down the pale, perfect plain of the other's chest, pausing to punctuate his homage by suckling the dark, twinned, pert peaks. Laving his tongue down the pathway of the flat stomach, his fingers carefully caressed the curvaceous cleft between the rear cheeks as he slowly sank to his knees. Tender, fluttering kisses were pressed along the fronts of Elrohir's thighs, his legs then firmly urged to spread slightly apart to more openly expose himself to the other's expert touch. Glorfindel licked the ticklish insides of the well-toned thighs, running a tongue tipped trail along the sensitive groove where one leg met body.

Feeling the sway in the other's body, hearing the barely audible moaned exhalation of his name, Glorfindel rolled back off his knees, gently pulling his lover along with him down to the necessary solidity of the floor. Reclaiming the prize of each other's most eager lips, the elves desperately sought to become one with the sanctity of the night, and the promise of each other, frenziedly entangling their bodies amidst the pile of discarded garments. Pale elfin skin reflected the amber shadows of the shimmering firelight, the warmth of the fire and the flames of their passion providing all the heat their bodies could possibly hope to bear.

Tenderly they captured lip and tongue, skin and touch, their movements guided by long-treasured memories of intimate attentions each held most dear. First conducted with reverent slowness, their explorations soon became more desperate, driven, fevered, with an increasingly bruising force behind each kiss. The nips of teeth along flesh first dimpled slight depressions, then raised the sharp stinging needles of passion-veiled pain and the angry red heat of nearly broken skin.

No more able to control the overwhelming waves of long-denied desire swallowing him than he could those of the mighty sea itself, Glorfindel roughly broke their embrace, silently rolled Elrohir over onto his stomach in one fluid motion, and slid both hands between the other's thighs and motioned them apart to create a natural space into which his face instantly dove. Balancing on his knees astraddle the twin's legs, Glorfindel urgently held the beckoning cushions of flesh firmly apart as his tongue spread its warm, moist, sensuous supplication along the entirety of the sensitive valley. Urged on by the robe-muffled moans of delight echoing through his private chamber, he pressed his features more firmly still against the well-curved flesh, his tongue blessing circular swipes of shudder-raising pleasure across the delicate, puckered intimacy of what he had once thought strictly beyond his grasp.

Directing a veritable lifetime of unexpressed love and painfully constrained desire into that one tiny portion of his lover's body Glorfindel continued to raise tumbling waves of blinding pleasure thrumming through the other's flesh, the rhythmic, unconscious bucking of the twin's hips as Elrohir ground his trapped need into the welcoming softness of the robes beneath him nearly breaking the contact as they grew more intense with the inevitable passing of minutes. Finally, he heard a sharp, staccato cry erupt into the night, felt his lover tense beneath him, then sighed in knowing contentment at the welcome sensation of the other's well-earned release.

Glorfindel patiently waited for the seizured spasms in the other's sweat-dappled skin to cease, then pressed a flurry of kisses along both halves of the rounded flesh. Leaning forward, he trailed his lips hurriedly up along the other's spine in a haphazardly broken line of punctuated kisses, finally breaking the contact when he reached over the other's head and strained to grasp a phial of scented oil coincidentally kept on a small dressing table. With a smile he leaned back, pausing as his lover breathlessly shifted underneath him onto his back and then pulled him urgently down to meet their mouths in a hungry, demanding kiss.

Patiently allowing himself to be devoured by his lover's deeply tongued expressions of devotion and momentary satiation, Glorfindel put the time to expeditious use. Balancing on his elbows, he covered his fingers in the slick, sumptuously scented oil, then carefully set the phial aside for additional samplings, if required. With a final affectionate suckle of the kiss-pouted lower lip, he regretfully broke the contact and leaned back onto his heels. Even the unsteady illumination of the rapidly diminishing firelight could do nothing to dim the overwhelming depths of need and desire in the younger elf's expression. It cascaded from every subtle tremble of anticipation reverberating through his flesh, sang out in the noticeable heave of his chest with each rapid-pulsed breath, screamed out its undeniable intent through the passion-dilated gaze boring through Glorfindel's eyes like the most masterful miner.

"As you desire, meleth-nin," Glorfindel whispered huskily, preparing his long-suffering, weeping need with trembling, oil drenched fingers. "Roll back, as I had loved you before." When Elrohir had shifted back onto his stomach, Glorfindel tenderly urged him up to his hands and knees with a hand flatly placed upon his release-painted stomach, then proceeded to carefully, lovingly, reverently, prepare the previously forbidden flesh for their long-awaited union.

Together they fit with such perfection that it seemed the Valar had especially created them one for the other alone of all creatures of Ea. Soft words of boundless love echoed through the fire-flickered air, low moans of encouragement and desire intermingling with the panted breaths which increasingly overtook their ability to form cognizant thought. Moving as one, rocking together with neither urgency nor intent save to savor every long-anticipated sensation, the elves loved each other with each layer of their being, every section of skin against skin, the limitless depths of their hearts, and the soaring heights of their souls.

Holding back as long as his flesh could stand, Glorfindel finally succumbed to the drowning waves of ecstasy washing over him, through him, and around him, shuddering away all the lingering regrets of this age along with his release, while his lips cried out the treasured name of the only soul he had ever truly loved, and ever would, even unto the end of days.

Part 5:

Only with the greatest of difficulty did the lovers finally manage to suffer the separation of their bodies long enough to hustle beneath the covers of Glorfindel's bed, then set to work reclaiming each other's flesh. They kissed until their lips were swollen, yet it somehow seemed not nearly enough to make up for the wasted years. Nothing could truly do that, no matter how many moments they shared like this in the coming days, months, even years. But rather than dwell upon the chances they had lost, they had both silently decided to themselves to cherish their second chance, from this moment forward.

With a contended, sated sigh of promise, Elrohir curled his body into the formfitting space between his lover's encircling arm and sweat-sheened body. Nuzzling his nose into the ticklish crook where neck became one with shoulder, his fingers reverently brushed over the pale blue agate resting comfortably in the shallow valley centered in the other's chest. It was a common enough stone, rather ordinary in its plainness, yet, somehow, carefully set in elf-wrought silver and lovingly worn as an affectionate amulet around the neck of this mighty Eldar lord, it seemed more sacred and powerful than any ancient heirloom his family possessed. The fact that Glorfindel thought so much of this childish gift, and of _him_ , even after all these years apart, spoke volumes to the twin in ways mere words could never hope to match.

Yet, part of him felt the inexorable need to try. "When did you take to wearing my gift again?" Elrohir quietly whispered, trailing a tender path of barely perceptible kisses along the other's neck.

Sighing in physical satisfaction tinged with the uneasy emotional vulnerability of the moment, Glorfindel curled his arm more tightly around his lover's shoulders, twisting his neck momentarily out of the other's grasp to place his own consecratory kiss upon the dark, passion-matted plaits of the twin's head. "I never truly stopped wearing it. It always accompanied me on any campaign, any field of battle. I wanted to have something of you close to me, in case I did not return to see your face again. It became my constant companion, again, some months ago, after you and I spoke of second chances. When Legolas last departed Imladris."

Elrohir smiled in the smug knowledge that his pleaded words of months past had had the desired effect on his obdurate lover, although he had certainly had been anything but confident of his success at the time. "You are, indeed, the master of second chances, iaur-neth," he teased lovingly, snaking his hand around the side of Glorfindel's chest and squeezing the solid torso.

"True, but if given the chance to face the Balrog again, or tell your father of our indiscretion, I might prefer the first. It might prove less painful."

The twin chuckled nervously. "And certainly involve far less roaring. We will leave _that_ conversation for another night." A shudder of remembered childhood fears trembled unconsciously through his flesh. From his earliest days, he and his brother had been told the awe-inspiring story of Glorfindel's battle with the Balrog, the terror in the elder elf's eyes belying his relative calm at recounting the events which led to his first death. Of the Halls of Mandos, themselves, Glorfindel would never speak, despite Elrohir's nagging persistence.

Elladan had listened with enthralled interest, as had Elrohir, but the elder twin was far more interested in the details of the Balrog, itself, while Elrohir had been enraptured, from an early age, by the strength and majesty of the elf lord who had, alone, faced down the ancient demon. When that fascination had turned to love, he could not truthfully say -- a part of him had seemingly always adored his surrogate uncle as far more than that role should normally entail. Yet the day he had innocently and insistently given that river-smoothed stone to his tutor, with a blush upon his youthful cheeks, and an unfamiliar, undeniable heat stirring in his leggings, had been the beginning of his earnest and relentless pursuit of the elder elf. Smiling in the sweetness of memories he had revisited quite often as of late, Elrohir fondled the silver-set stone. "I remember the day I gifted this upon you. It was the very first day I truly knew I wanted you as my own, and determined I would eventually have you. You did not know it, at the time, of course. It was merely a childish gift from your most impetuous student."

Smiling into the younger elf's hair, Glorfindel ran his lips through the dark, sex-scented silk. "Part of me knew your true motive, although I ignored it, as best I could, hoping your fancy would turn to someone more deserving, and proper, ere long."

Elrohir shifted in the cocooning arms, tilting up his face to lock his intense twilight-hued gaze upon the other's eyes. "Who could possibly be more deserving? If it had not been for your bravery at Cirith Thoronath, my father's father would have perished as a child, and I should never have been born. Surely, I could find no one who has proven themselves more worthy of my devotion, or my family's unending loyalty. You have proven yours beyond measure. My father could never find fault with you, or my love for you. It would be an insult beyond my ability to fathom."

||You are ever the optimist, pen-neth.|| With a slight smile born of boundless love and the amused comfort of the collected memories of centuries, Glorfindel snatched a soft, leisurely kiss from the proffered lips. "He would never fault _your_ love, or, perhaps, even mine. It is my lack of judgment, and restraint, in taking you into my bed while you were still in my care that he could, and _should_ , question. I have questioned it, myself, many a night since." A melancholy expression sorrowed the noble features, a single finger tracing out the delicate curve of the twin's lower lip. " _That_ is why I put an end to what we shared. I could not allow myself to take advantage of my station, and your father's trust, even though it meant denying myself the greatest pleasure I had found in this world, or any other."

Elrohir pressed an insistent kiss into the solitary traveler venturing across his mouth, then raised a hand to intertwine his fingers with the other's, clasping their conjoined grasp tightly to his heart. "You are the very model of restraint, meleth-nin. Who else could have resisted my charms for seven rounds of the sun?"

Chuckling at the cheeky boldness of that smug assertion, Glorfindel tugged their handclasp to his own lips for a kiss. "Assuredly, no one with eyes to behold, or a heart to feel. Yet, we both know I should have resisted further. Another ten years would have found me freed of my charge, and you in your majority."

"Another ten years waiting to touch you would have seemed an eternity," Elrohir sadly remembered. "What would I have felt had I known that, instead, I would be doomed to spend over a dozen loa absent from your arms because of my childish need to have you at that moment, regardless of the cost?"

Glorfindel tenderly kissed away the sorrowed etchings drawn across the lovely features. "You would still have wanted me, as I did you. We cannot take back what has happened, cannot reclaim the time wasted in regrets and longing. Yet we have the far greater gift of the future -- from this moment on." With a knowing smile he pulled his heart's desire back to lay against his chest, his chin snugged over the crown of the other's head. "It seems we have both been gifted a priceless treasure this day. Let us always remember and appreciate the rare gift of each night together with which we are graced from this time forward, lest we learned nothing from the years we spent apart."

Elrohir merely sighed in agreement, bonelessly melting into the embrace which utterly surrounded him and protectively separated him from the troubles of greater world beyond. It was strangely as if the long eternity which had separated them had never occurred, as if the last night he had spent in this very bed was only a few days past, rather than nearly all of this age. Such was the power of the truest of loves, that rarest of gifts most spend forever seeking, and only a fortunate few ever attain. He had been blessed more than he ever hoped -- in finding such a love once, in the folly of his youth, and having it return to him when he had finally experienced enough of the pains of the world to fully appreciate its rarity.

As for Glorfindel, he, too, lay in silence, contemplating the richness of blessings which had been gifted upon him. He had sometimes wondered if his release from the Halls of Mandos and return to Middle-earth had been for more than the reasons Elbereth had explained. He had eagerly accepted the opportunity and challenge to serve the grandson of Tuor, and the last of the high Kings of his own Noldorin heritage, in their fight against the ever-present, malicious black hand of Melkor's servants. Yet, even after the last war with Sauron, and his own battle against the Witch-king of Angmar, there still seemed to be debts largely left unpaid, as if the fullest depths of his re-allotted fate had not been fulfilled. The ways of the Valar, were, indeed a mystery beyond the ability of even the mightiest of the Eldar to comprehend. If this, indeed, be his reward, and his true fate, to give his undying love to one of the House of Tuor, he would accept it without question, without hesitation, and with all the reverence it deserved. Elrond would surely understand, by the Lady's grace. In time. Fortunately, he and Elrohir had been given that priceless prize, hopefully in an abundance commensurate with the depth of their desire and devotion.

Admissions and contritions could surely wait -- for _this_ night, all that existed was the sanctity of love long denied and well earned.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> 1) First, the Sindarin:
> 
> "Hir-i-gur-nin, min thenid meleth-nin" = Master of my heart, my one true love
> 
> "meleth-nin" = my love
> 
> "pen-neth" = young one
> 
> "iaur-neth" = ancient one
> 
> 2) In "Morgoth's Ring" it suggests that elves develop more slowly than humans physically, but faster mentally, and reach physical maturity (i.e. stop aging) about age 50 (although some can take a full century, or more). If we assume 50 human years = 21 elf years, that's 2.38 human years per elf year, which makes my assumption in the story of Elrohir's crush on Glorfindel beginning at age 33 really age 14 in human terms, and their initial affair at age 40 as age 17 in human years.
> 
> 3) "Nautha-edinor" is very rough Sindarin for "conception anniversary." As was pointed out by Tyellas, elves celebrated their conception (which occurred almost exactly a year prior to their actual birth), according to "Morgoth's Ring." Can't believe I spaced on that one!
> 
> 4) Okay, I've relented and taken a stand on the Glorfindel issue -- he's the same as the Glorfindel of the First Age. Feel free to disagree, but I will take that stand in the next few stories. It's not so important here, but it will be in future stories. For more info on Glorfindel, the controversy surrounding his true identity, and his sacrifice for Elrond's paternal grandparents (Tuor and Idril), see
> 
> http://www.suite101.com/article.cfm/4786/53015
> 
> 5) In the Calendar of Imladris, a loa, or Great Year, is 144 years, or roughly a century and a half.


End file.
